


Phantom Limb.

by Heartswell



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-28
Updated: 2008-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heartswell/pseuds/Heartswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not wanting to be alone with someone who doesn't want to be alone.<br/>It's in the emotions that run through your chest, in the panic that pounds down your sanity, it's in the sly fingers that tie up your fate together through things you don't, won't, never want.</p><p>And Gerard was the one who didn't want to be alone, the one who was not so wise and was the one didn't even get a chance to taste rest after one call and one stupid decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Limb.

## It's There But Your Head Is Not.

 

 _Don't touch me._  
That's the first thing my eyes say with their rapid hurricane pupils.  
But he keeps fucking  _touching_  me. It's like he's blind or something to miss the tyrant blood-red alarm printed across my face.  _He's either too stupid or too wanting._

 _Don't touch me._  The alarm's explosive red now and his hands are reaching for my semi-clothed waist.  
"Don't be like that, Gera-" His voice is velvety smooth as his fingers seduce my skin.

"JUST!" I'm flinching away and rolling from under him, throat raspy and pained like a clogged artery; choked up with blood clots, ready for an exploding heart, " _don't touch me._ " I let out several hushed words.

"It's only me..." he sighs, wrapping his arms over his isolated self.  _He's freaking out but I can't help it; he wants me now but I'm too scared to want him._

"I know," I whimper, rolling my eyes all the way around to the other side of the room just to avoid his burdened stare.  
I don't know how he could bear being with someone like me; a person who's terrified from even one suggestive touch while he needs someone who'd never leave his side. He knows I won't leave, but he also realizes that I won't get close just by looking at my barbed-wire panicky stares. Pete didn't want to be lonely and I felt like the exact opposite of a phantom limb; I'm still there but he couldn't feel me; I was a lost spirit in his world; sometimes sensed and seen, the others invisible.  
 _Like being with me made him feel more alone._

That's why he's curling over himself frightened out of his mind; I stopped existing for him.  
"Why won't you just let me touch you? Just for once?" Pete mutters to himself  _because Gerard wasn't in the room anymore and he's all alone. Pete who always had crowds and crowds of people swarming over him every waking moment was just by himself._

That's how we ended up together in the first place.  
Pete was alone.

"Why won't you let me touch you?" he repeated with shivering sighs scattering throughout the odd atmosphere.  
 _Because I really don't trust you; I don't trust your eyes; I don't trust your hands; I don't trust **anyone**._

"You picked the wrong person to keep you company." I'm trying to sound calm and collected but my tone's failing to catch up to my expression.

"I won't do anything to you..."

"Then what the fuck did you try to do just now?"  _I'm only snapping because I'm scared.  
Honest._

"I wanted to hold you." Pete's drowning himself in panic that no-one has the guts to show; well, unless they're alone, exposed or just plain crazy.  
I think he's all three.

"The hell you did." All noise died down after that, even a falling pin would sew its mouth shut hearing this silence. He just withered in his seat and I shrunk sitting on the floor.

"You think I'm a bad person?" That sounded more like a fact than a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What you do is what you are." I tuck the hem of my half-open shirt into my jeans and stare back at the reflection of what he  _tried_  to do.  _The fucking pervert._

"I just wanted to hold someone; that's it." He's as innocent as he could be but he's lying. He just called me because he's lonely and couldn't reach anyone at this time who'd be around and ready to run into his warm warm ribs; but there's many types of lonely. And I know what type he wanted to relieve.  
I wasn't going to let it happen.

"I wasn't going to do anything."

"The  _hell_  you were. You lie without blinking an eyelash; how can I  _not_  think you're a bad person?"  
He's suffocating in his loneliness like a fish out of water; I could see his lungs almost eating themselves away out in the open. He needs humans like that gasping fish needs molten air.  
I'm not a big fan of fish; especially goldfish-skin clad sharks.

"J-just... please, Gerard? Sit next to me? Don't touch me, don't talk to me, just sit here..." He could barely heave those words out.  _He's not talking to himself anymore. He can see me._ "Be near me." He's all tears and trembles now. " _I'm lonely._ "  
And I'm clenching my fists against my forehead so hard I could feel my unpolished fingernails digging into the throbbing thoughts and squeezing every last bit of calm out of me.

"SHUT THE  _FUCK_  UP!" I'm yelling and my head's hurting and I don't want to even  _look_  at him. "... _shut the fuck up._ "  
I've burst.

Head in hands, both of us, we hid from each other. I think he's crying but I don't care. _Perverts should be swatted away like the insignificant flies they are. They don't care about others' emotions so why should **I**?_

"I told you I'm not going to do any-" He stopped mid-sentence to take a breath between his tears.  _I'm not looking but he's still hiding his face._  
He wants a touch?

He was still shaking and panting when I grabbed his almost intertwining wrists, pinning each down against the voice-smooth velvet of the couch he was seated on. Every sign of panic started to halt when he stared me in the eyes after registering the position he's in; that I’m actually on top of him.  
He's looking back at me with pitch-dark eyes as I let me knees fall by his sides, hips cornering hips.  
He's not asking any questions as he watches my face contort with boiling frustration that poured and poured out of my fingers, resulting in increasing the pressure on both of his wrists.  _I can almost hear his joints popping in my head but I'm already panicking as it is._

"You're sweating."  
 _And it's getting into my eyes and merging into my breaths and bubbling between every cell of existence and I can't **breathe.**_

"I'm still lonely." His sweat is copulating with mine and he's still looking at me with those pitch-dark eyes.

" _What more do you fucking want?_ " I snarl wearing a look the most desperate cornered tiger would have before jumping into a fire.  
He opens his mouth just to close it again and from the gaze on the tip of his eyelashes,  _he already got it._

And I'm stupid. So stupid and gullible and naive as he catches my lips into his and tangles his legs with mine.  _And I can't fucking move, breathe or break away._  
And he's drawing me in with those lonely lonely pupils drowning in a sea of eyelashes and brown. Pete simply rolls me over with those scary pitch-dark eyes and we're back to where we started and his lips are creeping down my cheeks, along my jawbone and above my Adams' Apple like living satin ribbons, engulfing and lacing my sanity in panicked-patterned gift-wrap of fluttering frisks and wry intentions.

 _And I'm so fucking stupid._

I'm crying and I'm seeing sunsets and sunrises of blurred colors as Pete keeps fucking _touching_  me with those hands, those lips, those hips.

It's done now and I'm so fucking  _stupid_. It was him, it is him, and I know I shouldn't have come. He's not letting go and I don't want this. I stopped writhing midway but I still don't want this, I don't want his hands, his lips, his eyes and I don't want him  _in_  me.

He's lonely and he's lost it and he's not here anymore.

Now I'm crazy and fucked and got fucked because getting fucked is what terrified me in the first place.

 _And I was so fucking stupid._

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be an entry for a contest on mibba(.com), but it didn't make it.  
> You're free to interpret that ending as you like.  
> And, just for the record, Gerard's supposed to have agoraphobia (fear of sexual abuse) while Pete has autophobia (fear of being alone), so I hope I managed to portray those well.


End file.
